


Cards

by aboraxas



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Birthday, Cards, Dragon Age Anniversary, F/M, Fluff and Angst, all of my fics have varric bc i'm in love with him, big sad hours
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-20
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-04-03 17:40:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21495841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aboraxas/pseuds/aboraxas
Summary: The note had approximately twenty-four words, took not even a whole minute for Inquisitor Lavellan to read, and was as mysterious as its sender.Inquisitor,The passage of these five long years seems but an instant in my heart, yet still ample cause for celebration…Tea soon?Solas
Relationships: Fen'Harel | Solas/Female Lavellan
Comments: 5
Kudos: 11





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first piece I've decided to publish! I was super excited to see the birthday card that Bioware posted. Big scream hours. 
> 
> Takes place five years after Trespasser. I've left the status of Lavellan's forces vague. I kind of want to write Lavellan's response? We'll see.

The note had approximately twenty-four words, took not even a whole minute for Inquisitor Lavellan to read, and was as mysterious as its sender.

_Inquisitor,_

_The passage of these five long years seems but an instant in my heart, yet still ample cause for celebration… _

_Solas_

Lavellan is staring at the card, which she is holding with the new arm that Dagna made. The card, a pale cream color that stood out against the smooth silverite of her fake appendage, looks inconspicuous enough. Solas’ perfect script is written on some type of textured card stock—she moved it to the left and right in the light of the veil fire that she rushed to bring back into the room. No secret messages or glyphs.

When she first saw it, she shrieked. Her office was so far removed from the rest of Skyhold that no one else heard it (she always thought that would be incredibly useful, but her sex life was as active as she was busy). Dorian, on the other hand, did hear her screeching—as they were speaking on the sending crystal that he had gifted her before he left the Exalted Council when she walked into the room, towards her desk.  
  
Her desk, which includes an empty and admittedly filthy goblet, several missives from her advisors and the friends she has scattered across Thedas—all wishing her a happy birthday or telling her that she can endure the stress of saving the world (again). Those she expected. What she _didn’t _expect this year was a birthday card from the Dread Wolf. Her ex boyfriend. Chuckles. A creator from the Elvhen pantheon.

_Solas._

“Did you hold it to the light? What do you see?”

“Oh shit, yes, sorry Dorian. I got overwhelmed for a second there. Let me do it again” She heard Dorian huff as she took a deep breath and held the card over the veil fire again as she spoke, “So far, I don’t see anything. Dorian, what if he’s asking for help?”

Dorian lets out a short groan.

“No, I’m serious!” She says, “He hates tea—it prevents him from entering the fade efficiently. What if he’s asking to meet because he’s in trouble? I know he’s trying to tear down the veil, but what if— “Lavellan I’m afraid I’m going to have to stop you there.” Dorian sighs.

“I understand that you love him. I know that you believe that he can change—but he looked you dead in the eye and told you that the consequences of tearing the veil (the world ending, people dying consequences) doesn’t matter so long as his people are restored. I think that I understand his feelings of wanting to make his people greater than they are,” he says softly, “But these ends do not justify the means.”

“That’s why I think that if we put our heads together, we can find a way to tear it down without ending the world! What if he,” Her voice breaks as she clutches the crystal in her fingers and brings it closer to her face, “What if he needs me?” She knows how cliché she sounds. She knows that she sounds desperate and naïve. She knows that better than anyone.  
  
But she also knows Solas better than anyone.

Unfortunately, what she knows isn’t a lot.

“That may be true. He has always needed you.” Dorian’s voice said simply through the crystal, “He needed you to close the rifts, to save the world. He needed you to lead the Inquisition to save the world. He needed you to stop the Qunari to save the world. He has always needed you.” Lavellan stops crying as she listens to her friend speak, “But you do not need him.” Dorian says firmly. Lavellan begins to protest—before he interrupts her again.

  
“_Vishante kaffas. _First, he leaves you after taking your,” he stumbles a bit over the pronunciation of the word, “vallaslin. Then he leaves again after you killed the villain he technically created. Then after making you go on a particularly scenic scavenger hunt with all of your closest friends (how romantic!) as he left dead qunari lying around like a bread crumb trail, you figure out his identity, you reunite and he takes your arm—”

Lavellan sighed, “He didn’t take my arm, he had to sever it to prevent it from killing me.”

  
“_He took your arm,_” Lavellan flushes, embarrassed but grateful he didn’t mention the torrid goodbye kiss, “kissed you goodbye” Spoken too soon, “And leaves you as your _rotting lower arm _detaches itself from your body with ancient magic! Now, five years later he sends you _this_?” Lavellan hears him huff again before he continues, “He could have at least sent you one sooner. And a gift. I don’t know why I’m even angry, what did we expect? The man can barely dress himself much less communicate appropriately.”

As Dorian finishes his rant, Lavellan pours herself a glass of wine. Or rather, she was about to fetch a clean glass before deciding that drinking from the bottle would be more efficient. She’s more or less pouring the wine down her throat and swallowing, before setting it down and touching the tarot cards associated with Solas.

During the days when they fought Corypheus, Lavellan painted tarot cards with portraits of the members of the inquisition.

At first, it was a way to distract herself from the feelings of emotions about being “The Herald of Andraste” and then also, “The Inquisitor” (it also helped her keep track of who’s who and who went with her where)—but then it also became a sort of artistic case study. As she learned more about them, she included more details in their portraits or painted new ones altogether. Solas’ had been the Hermit, the Fool (he dumped her, she was sour, but also very in love with him still), and finally the Tower. Solas’ cards were laid out onto her desk next to the card, and she’s looking at the Fool as Dorian speaks.  
  
“You are not a bargaining chip.”  
“I know.”  
“He must be stopped.”  
“I know.”  
“I will stand by your side.” Dorian said, sounding resolute and soft at the same time, “You are my closest friend. I will not just stand around and let you destroy yourself to keep your immortal boyfriend in gold pants from unleashing his angry mage god friends unto the world.”  
  
Lavellan curls up and into her chair as he speaks to her. She puts the Fool in the drawer—leaving only The Hermit and The Tower out next to the card.

  
“I’m not over his pants too,” She admits as she laughs and wipes her tears away. “And, I know, Dorian. I know.” She blows her nose, as he laughs. “I think I may be too close to this.”  
“I’ll say. Lucky for you, _they _aren’t.”  
“I know Dorian,” Lavellan says softly as straightens her posture. She pulls out her paints and stock and paints a new card. Her new friend deserves recognition. The sketch of her painting of the dread wolf, stopping a red eyed wolf that towers over him graced the cover of the dossier.

“I know.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inquisitor Trevelyan receives a missive from an old adversary.

The note had approximately twenty-four words, took not even a whole minute for Inquisitor Trevelyan to read, and was as mysterious as its sender.

Inquisitor,  
The passage of these five long years seems but an instant in my heart, yet still ample cause for celebration…  
Tea soon?   
Solas

“Mother fucker!” The Inquisitor said through gritted teeth. She crumpled the card in her hand. “I guess I have to crack some eggs.” 

Wherever he was, the Dread Wolf sneezed-- briefly disturbing his painting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my Trevelyan's ended up being super aggressive, pro-chantry, and blunt. She wasn't besties with Solas as a result. I'll update with more of my DA oc's as I get more and more stressed out during finals lmao-- Lavellan pt.2 is coming soon (?)-- probably later today since today's update is so short. 
> 
> Thank u for the responses!!!! <3 <3


	3. Spilling the Tea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric debates writing a new serial, Lavellan redecorates her new office, and Charter has a cookie! There are Tevinter Night's spoilers ahead, so be wary (and if you can afford it and haven't yet, buy the book!).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dread wolf take you spoilers!
> 
> I also need to redecorate my room. 
> 
> I'm almost graduated, so updates will (hopefully) become regular. I'm sorry that this took so long!

It has been nearly a year later, and Lavellan still hasn’t responded to Solas’ card.

“To be fair Lavellan,” Varric says as he lowers his cards in front of him, “It _was _a kind of bullshit thing for him to do out of the blue.”

“Yes, but a lot of people were expecting me to respond.” Lavellan sighs, as Varric pours her another glass of an Antivan red.

“You mean me, the seeker and sparkler.” He says, taking a sip of his wine.

He could distract Lavellan and tell her that it’s a good, full-bodied vintage, but he doesn’t know shit about wine—it’s all just fermented juice to him. He could also lie to Lavellan and say that no one would be interested in hearing about a torrid elf romance, but he could be easily countered with the success of his latest serial: a romance spy thriller where in which a mage who kicks ass and solves crimes falls in love with a broody elf who hates mages.

The Rowdy Dowager rated it five unbuttoned silk shirts out of five.

He wonders how much he’d make off of spicier version of Lavellan’s torrid romance with everyone's favorite bald elven god.

“I think _I _expected me to respond.” Lavellan says, “He’s like my nemesis and ex-boyfriend—how could I not have things to say about it?”

Varric practically spits out his drink.  
  
“Ex-boyfriend? Is that what you think he is?" 

  
“What else would he be?” Lavellan says, frowning.

“Well the man wouldn’t stop calling you his heart, _and _I don’t know ex-boyfriend doesn’t really sound as epic as it is.” Varric says, “He’s the villain and the love of your life in your story—isn’t there a word somewhere for that?"

Lavellan mutters under her breath, “Does ‘asshole’ work?”  
  
“It does, but I don't think that it'd inspire the change that you wanna see in him.” Varric says as he puts the cards away. He probably shouldn't have suggested playing cards with Lavellan if he knew that Solas was gonna come up in conversation. "He'd probably just ask if you had questions and walk away after answering, like, two of them." 

  
"Or worse." Lavellan laughs and sits back into her chair. She takes a sip from her glass and says , "He could apologize to me for being an ass and tear down the veil anyway." 

* * *

“Forgive me, Inquisitor—”

  
“_Ex_ -Inquisitor!” Lavellan shouts as she pushes the giant table to the corner of the room with the force of her magic. When its finally in place Lavellan turns to look at Charter, the spymaster of what remains of the inquisition. Lavellan picks up a chair and begins to move that adjacent to the table she just moved.

“Your worship,” Charter says, “I uh…”

  
The _ex_-Inquisitor’s office is now a dungeon in [undisclosed location—not for the eyes of possible fen harel narcs], the result of Divine Victoria’s mandate to abandon Skyhold in its entirely after the regret debacle. For months the room was practically just a bunch of cells with a table in the middle— Lavellan brought a painting in there once, but it felt awkward among the rows of bars. The last time that Charter was here the painting was gone, and the room basically looked the same.

Now the iron bars are gone, (“Lavellan tore them down after hearing what the demon in Skyhold said.” Farrier explained to Charter with a pale and confused expression on his face) and the old table has been replaced with a more expensive one with halla carved into the wood. A couch sits on the righthand side of the room, with several embroidered pillows sitting on the dark green cushions. There are new paintings (portraits of the Inquisitor’s friends, Charter notes) on the walls, and white curtains hang around the room. A silver vase filled with flowers sits on the floor next to a pile of books and charts. A hefty pile of cookies sit on porcelain plate next to a candle with a wooden wick. 

It smells like lavender.

“Yeah?” The Inquisitor says, giving up on manual labor by lifting another chair with just the rise of her forefinger and a bit of magic.

“Forgive me, your worship,” Charter says after glancing at the plate of cookies, “But what are you doing?”

“Re-decorating.”

“Yes,” Charter sighs, “I can see that.”  
  
Lavellan picks up another chair with a spectral hand, “Am I not allowed to redecorate? I had to give up my castle Charter. And it’s not like I have a lot to do with a bunch of free time in my new makeshift office aside from lament, redecorate, and look for the actual dread wolf in my dreams.”  
  


Charter watches the vase, plate of cookies, and the candle fly in the air and land in the center of the table.

  
“You are allowed to redecorate, your worship. I just,” Charter sits at the table and sets the folder she was holding down.

Charter is an experienced player of The Game, and doesn't normally react dramatically after what everything that she has seen. But “hanging out” with Lavellan is a new experience that always manages to throw her off guard. 

She continues, “I came to give and present my report on my most recent investigation with the allies we gathered.”

“Oh. I trust that it was successful?” Lavellan asks, setting down another chair in place—the last of its set.

“Yes, your worship." Charter says. She pauses and says, “But, perhaps it was _too _eventful.”

Lavellan hops in place and takes a seat across from Charter.

  
“Alright Charter.” Lavellan says, smiling at the ginger elf, “I know I probably shouldn't, but I have a good feeling about this. Lay it on me.”  
  


* * *

Charter has been describing the events of The Teahouse for about half an hour now, and as she draws closer to the end of the tale she sucks in a breath. Her meeting with The Dread Wolf is a simultaneous step forward, and a big step back. 

“He said, "I am prideful, hotheaded, and foolish, and I am doing what I must."" She says, looking away from Lavellan.

There were many well known truths in Skyhold, back when Corypheus was their biggest problem. Magister Pavus, back when he was just Dorian, kept a steady supply of a pomade that he had imported to the keep from Antiva. The commander did the same, however much he tried to deny it, and asked the kitchen for butter cookies when he felt like something sweet. Thom Ranier, then Blackwall, had a crush on Josephine and would leave her flowers by a statue. Lord Seeker Pentaghast, then just a seeker, loved romance novels to death.   
  
Solas, then the quiet apostate, hated tea.

But he loved Lavellan, and she him. 

Whenever the servants saw them painting together or when the Divine's spies heard Solas telling her his stories, they'd smile knowingly at one another. Not just because romance is cute and heartwarming, or whatever, but because Lavellan didn't look like the Inquisitor anymore and Solas didn't look like an outcast apostate. The two of them looked at each other like people who actually _see_the other, and it melted the people they pretended to be on the outside. When he took her vallaslin, she was upset-- but mostly she just looked alone.   
  
Like she did when they defeated Corypheus, when she arrived at the Winter Palace for the Exalted Council, and when the council ended and the inquisition was disbanded. 

"He told me to tell you that he is sorry.” She says, finally.

Lavellan is listening to Charter intently. It may not look like it, since her face is buried in her hands, but she is still listening to whatever Charter is saying.  
  
Lavellan rises with a breath.  
  
“Okay. Is there anything else, Charter?” She says calmly.  
  
“No, your worship.”  
  
“Excellent.” Lavellan stands up, “I am going to go to my chambers now.”  
  
“Your worship?”

  
Lavellan waves her right arm in the air as she walks towards the door.

  
“You did excellent work Charter. Very cunning, Leiliana was right to pick you. Please let her know what you’ve found out, and relay that information to the Lord Seeker as well.” Lavellan turns the knob to open it and enter it as Charter speakers.

  
“I will.” Charter says rising from her chair, “Do you need me to call for anyone? I believe that the Iron Bull and his mercenaries are passing through soon, and Viscount Tethras wanted to know the state of—”

“It’s fine Charter,” Lavellan says softly from halfway through the doorway. Charter's eyebrows furrow as she can't help but try to read Lavellan's expression-- it doesn't matter if she's smiling or not, she still looks like-- Lavellan interrupts Charter's train of thought, and tells her, “I’ll be fine.”  
  
As Lavellan passes through the door, Charter sees her expression: a small frown, wrinkles on her brow, and one arm holding on tightly to whats left of the other.

She thinks she's alone. 

The door shuts and Charter is the only one left in the, admittedly much cozier, room. Charter grabs a cookie and sinks down into her chair.

  
“Fuck.”


End file.
